


The Healer's Apprentice

by AfricanDaisy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Father-Son Relationship, Greenwood, Master and Apprentice, Second Age, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29061552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/pseuds/AfricanDaisy
Summary: Newly apprenticed to a Master Healer and finally pursuing his dream of becoming a healer himself, Galad must face the consequences of his actions – and his past.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	The Healer's Apprentice

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: Some people have expressed an interest in reading more of Galad and Nestorion. I wrote this a while ago for myself rather than necessarily intending to post it anywhere but I think that this is a good time to share it given that I have touched on Galad’s backstory in other writings and that his brothers have now been introduced in In Winter Come the Storms. This story is set during ‘The Thief with the Shining Eyes’ not long after Galad first met Lutha and Alphros and became Nestorion’s apprentice. Thank you to those who are interested in these characters, it is always such a confidence boost and so meaningful when other people care about your OCs!
> 
> Note 2: There is a flashback in this story in which Galad is 5 years old. The human equivalent is 2 years old.

Apprentice Healer Galadaelin Thranorion was not an elfling inclined towards dragging his feet. But as he made the long walk from the guest room – his room for the foreseeable future, but he still thought of himself as a guest in Master Nestorion’s home even though he had been thoroughly welcomed – dragging his feet was just what he wanted to do. Because, Apprentice Healer Galadaelin Thranorion was in trouble. He knew it. Nestorion knew it. The birds that Nestorion kept for messages probably knew it. Galadaelin, or Galad as he was more commonly known, also knew that it was a particular kind of trouble that he had found for himself. It was to be his first time in that kind of trouble with Nestorion, and that was such a sobering and shameful thought that he felt very small indeed.

The door to Nestorion’s wood panelled study with its low leather couch and ceiling high bookshelves had been left open in anticipation of Galad’s arrival, so there was no opportunity for him to stop and prepare himself. All he could do was step in and meekly announce himself. “I’m here, Master Nestorion.”

“Thank you for coming.” Despite everything, Nestorion still sounded kind and there was a sympathetic light in his leafy green eyes as he stepped around his desk and closed the door. His hand coming to rest on Galad’s shoulder made the elfling flinch, but it was a gentle touch that guided Galad to the couch. “You made a fine handful of mistakes today, my apprentice,” Nestorion said, when they were seated. “I trust you can identify them for me.”

“I made willow bark tea when you asked for rosehip,” Galad replied quietly, shame and self-loathing washing over him. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ “And I was late for herb gathering this evening and I made errors in the report about Protector Magor’s concussion.”

Nestorion nodded gravely, his elbow resting on the back of the couch and his chin propped in his hand. “I like to think myself a fair person and a reasonable teacher. While I might give you a word of caution for any one of those mistakes, three require me to ask how this happened.”

“I was tired, sir. I stayed up past midnight again to study.”

Some ellyn would have snapped at Galad to speak up. Indeed, that was what he braced himself for as the words came out barely above a whisper. But Nestorion simply nodded to the hushed confession. “Your bedtime is at ten o’clock, my apprentice. It is at that time for a number of reasons. Firstly, you are very young. Secondly, I need you at your best when I am teaching you. And thirdly, good health starts with good sleep. This is a talk that you and I have had before. I have warned you twice already that you are to be in your room at ten o’clock with the light out no later than half past that hour. Despite those past conversations and the understanding that I thought we had, you have again disobeyed me.”

“I’m sorry, Master Nestorion,” Galad said miserably.

The apology drew a deep sigh from Nestorion. “I believe you. That is why it brings me no joy to say that I intend to discipline you, for I think we must both agree that we have gone past the point where verbal cautions are sufficient. We had a conversation about rules when I first took you as my apprentice. I informed you then that physical chastisement would form a part of your discipline if it should ever be required. Do you still understand what I mean by physical chastisement?”

“Yes, sir,” Galad whispered.

“It is your first time receiving such from me,” Nestorion added. “You may ask any questions and take as much time as you need. This will happen, but only when you are ready.”

Galad just stared at his hands folded in his lap. “I don’t need to ask anything. Thank you.”

“Very well, if you are certain,” Nestorion conceded. He glanced towards his desk and the two hardback chairs in front of it as if he was considering turning one of them around, but then he shook his head slightly. “Here is as good a place as any. Come, my apprentice.”

There was no need for further instruction. Galad stood and allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath, but no more than a single moment before placing himself across Nestorion’s lap. He wasn’t comfortable there – this was his master, his teacher, a healer he respected! – but to disobey was unthinkable. He felt the back of his heather grey tunic being lifted and held out of the way. His leggings remained in place, and Nestorion’s hand rested briefly on his clothed bottom. When it lifted and came down, it came down firmly but not hard. Galad lay still and silent, simply turning his face against his upper arm as a steady rhythm was found and settled into. The repeated swats became firmer and more solid, but they remained carefully controlled.

“Lift up for me, please.”

Nestorion had paused after just a few minutes. The fact that he had qualified the request with a _please_ was astounding. Nobody in such a position of authority ever had to be polite about such things. They commanded and they shouted and they yanked at clothing but they never said _please_. Puzzling over that, Galad raised his hips slightly and felt a cool rush of air as his lower clothing was drawn down to his knees. He settled back into position, and the solid sound of Nestorion’s hand became sharper without fabric in the way to cushion it. Galad breathed out slowly, sadly, and as his face went back into his arm he felt a tear slip from one eye and then the other. They fell in silence.

And so it went for minutes more until the elfling’s bottom was burning enough that in the evening it would still serve as a reminder for him to go to bed on time. He felt himself being released from under Nestorion’s hand, the one that had remained on his lower back, and he got up to pull his clothing back into place. Taking a step away as Nestorion gave him a long and thoughtful look, Galad could only briefly hold his master’s gaze before having to avert his eyes and cast them down to the floor.

“You are not my first apprentice,” Nestorion said finally. “As unpleasant as this will be for you to hear, you are also not the first elfling I have had across my knee.”

Galad glanced up. Nestorion had been right; that had not been a pleasant thing to hear. “No, Master,” he agreed quietly, flushing with embarrassment.

“I would usually like to offer comfort or reassurance at this point, but I feel that you don’t want it, or perhaps that you don’t expect it. And while there is no right or wrong way to respond to discipline, and certainly pain tolerance varies from one person to another…” Here Nestorion paused and looked more intently at his well-disciplined apprentice. “I expected more reaction from you. I was quite firm.”

Yes. It was nowhere near the worst punishment Galad had ever received, but it had been enough to teach him a lesson. There was no doubt about that. “I suppose I don’t see the point in making a fuss and upsetting you even more, sir,” Galad said finally.

A frown briefly appeared on Nestorion’s handsome face. “Are you trying to impress me?”

“No, sir.”

“It’s all right if you are,” Nestorion added.

“But I’m not,” Galad protested helplessly.

“Then why should you be concerned about upsetting me? As far as I can see, any elfling who finds himself facedown, clothing in a state of disarray, with the same part of his body being repeatedly struck, is perfectly entitled to, as you put it, _make a fuss_ ,” Nestorion said.

Galad managed to suppress a tired sigh, but the longing flicker of his eyes towards the door was out of his control. “I don’t know, Master,” he said softly. “You asked me a question and I did my best to answer it honestly. The answer I gave is the only answer I have.”

“Find a position that is comfortable, and sit with me,” Nestorion quietly instructed his student, patting the spot next to him. He waited until Galad was sitting on the couch, hands folded once more in his lap, before speaking again. “You say that this does not come from wanting to impress me. I can believe that. But it leaves me wondering where else it might come from.”

“It’s the way I was brought up,” Galad said briefly.

“Tell me,” Nestorion encouraged him, and Galad found himself drifting into the past.

_Five year old Galadaelin Thranorion was a happy elfling. His favourite person in the world was his father. His other favourite person in the world was his mother. His other-other favourite people in the world were his biggest brothers Celegnir and Breigon and his not-so-big-but-still-bigger-than-him-brother Noendir. Together the six of them lived in a lovely house in the north of a great forest, with a garden, a handful of horses and dogs, and a tree swing._

_Galadaelin – and the only people who called him that were Ada when the elfling was doing something he shouldn’t, and Nana when she cuddled him and cooed that he was her sweet little Galadaelin; mostly he was just called Galad, because his parents hadn’t thought about how well he would be able to pronounce his own name – didn’t have a whole lot of things to worry about, being only five. His days were full of sunshine and sweet kisses and the smiles that appeared on the faces of his parents and his brothers when he made them laugh, because being the much doted on and adored baby, his family were always quick to find joy in all that he did. If there was anything that Galad had to worry about at all, it was whether or not he would be dropped on the floor when he sat up high on his father’s shoulders. But even that wasn’t a real worry, because Galad didn’t ever think for a second that his beloved father would let him fall._

_One of Galad’s favourite things to do was sneak into the biggest bedroom of the house, which rightly so, belonged to his parents. If Nana was in there she would sit him on her lap and let him play with her beads while she braided her hair, or she would pat the bed and cuddle him to her breast while she read her book. But if Ada was in there, he would hide behind the door only to snatch Galad up in the air and mock-roar at him, “Who goes there?” And then when Galad would giggle, Ada would look affronted and he would do his mock-roar again. “Giggle at me, will you? I’ll show you giggling, you little sneak.” Then he would tickle his small son until the giggles turned into howls of laughter, and Ada would laugh as well in that rich, booming way he had, and Galad would be so delighted that he would laugh even more to the point of breathlessness._

_Yes, life was good._

_Until it wasn’t._

_The first sign that life had stopped being good was the crying. Galad was used to crying, because even a five year old boy living a very good life can find things to cry about – a grazed knee, an unwanted vegetable, a lost toy. But this crying didn’t come from Galad. It came from his brothers. All of them. The tiny elfling had seen Noendir cry once after an incident which had started with their father sternly saying ‘Noendir Thranorion’ in the same way that he said ‘Galadaelin Thranorion’ when Galad was about to do something naughty, and which had finished, unseen, in the study. Galad had never seen his biggest brothers crying. Never ever. And yet they were._

_Ada didn’t cry. Instead he did things that made glass smash and wood splinter. Galad cried then because it frightened him to hear those sounds coming from the study and then the kitchen and later the workshop where his father did his carpentry. Galad looked for his mother to rock him and coo to him in that special way she had, but he couldn’t find her even though he looked in every room and stared out of every window. When he asked his brothers where she was, Celegnir stared at him in silence. Breigon said something bad under his breath and stormed from the room. Noendir curled into a ball on the settee and cried some more. Galad just went back to his room then and put himself to bed, supposing that Nana would come back soon._

_Nana never came. Instead an ellon called Daerada came. That was not his true name in much the same way that Ada wasn’t really called Ada and Nana had a name other than Nana. Daerada was actually Captain Protector Bregolas Elhaelion, but Galad didn’t know that at the time and anyway it wouldn’t have been proper for him to call his own grandfather that. In truth, it felt a little odd for him to call Daerada anything at all because he had only met the stern and stoic warrior three times in his short life. Still, his brothers said ‘Daerada’ and so Galad dutifully did the same._

_Daerada took Galad away. For Galad, that was the start of many days high off the ground on Daerada’s stallion with a strong arm wrapped around him as they rode from the north to the south. Daerada didn’t let him fall off the great horse just like Ada wouldn’t have if he was there. That helped endear Daerada to Galad, who soon began to tell Daerada in his elfling’s lisp all about Ada, Nana, his brothers, his dogs, his tree swing, his toys, and anything else that he could think of._ _Daerada listened quietly, but whenever Galad mentioned Nana, his lips went thin and a strange light appeared in his eyes. That was because Nana was dead, though nobody had actually told Galad that. They thought he wouldn’t understand, but he could have. He understood that dead was what happened when Ada swatted a fly out of the sky. He knew that dead was what happened to the rabbits and deer that his brothers hunted for dinner and to the fish that Nana caught in the stream behind their house. Yes, Galad could have understood dead. But perhaps it wouldn’t have been right for him to think of his mother as swatted like a fly or hunted like a rabbit._

_Time didn’t mean much to such a little elfling, but Galad stayed with Daerada for long enough that he stopped being five and became six instead. Daerada didn’t cuddle him like Nana or tickle like Ada. Daerada was just…there. He bathed Galad and dressed him, he put him to bed and sometimes read a story, and he made sure Galad ate every little bit of his vegetables, but that was it. When Galad did something that he shouldn’t, Daerada didn’t just say his name in the same stern way as Ada. Sometimes he would take Galad by the wrist and give his hand a stinging tap. Other times he would deliver the same sort of tap to Galad’s bottom or the back of his leg. That always made Galad cry and wish for his mother’s tender kisses and his father’s rough hugs. He missed the things that had made life so good before._

_Finally, Daerada announced that Thranor was ready to have Galad back. Galad didn’t know who Thranor was until he remembered once hearing Nana call Ada by that name. That must mean that Thranor was Ada, and if that was so then surely Galad must be going home! The very thought of it made him squirm with excitement. He might have squirmed all the way home if Daerada hadn’t sharply tapped his leg and told him to settle down. Galad did settle, but that didn’t stop his insides wriggling happily as if there were butterflies living inside him._

_When they got home, things were the same but different. The tree swing and the dogs were still there, but the swing looked like it hadn’t been used in ever such a long time, and the dogs were subdued. Noendir greeted Galad with the biggest hug he’d had since…well, he couldn’t remember when. Celegnir gave him an absentminded pat on the head, and Breigon just nodded stiffly and said hello as if they were strangers. Nana did nothing because she wasn’t there. Galad still hadn’t been told precisely that Nana was dead, but he had come to understand that she wouldn’t be there – not when he returned and not ever again, but he was still hopeful about that part. As for Ada, he just held Galad in his arms in an embrace so unfeeling that it made all the lovely butterflies inside wither and die, but Galad made himself stay in it because he had missed Ada so much that he didn’t want to be parted from him. Daerada left soon after that, but Galad watched from the window and saw how Daerada stopped and turned back not once, not twice, but three times. Of course, finally, Daerada turned his back for the last time and rode away._

_Life didn’t go back to normal as Galad remembered it, because in his absence a new normal had been born. It was one that he had to try and fit into except nobody really told him that. So he still expected Noendir to tell him fantastical stories with a different voice for every character, and he didn’t understand why Noendir looked so tired and sad or why when he read to Galad it was in such a lifeless voice. Galad still expected Breigon to push him on the swing, so when Breigon snapped at him to go away and shoved him from one end of the settee to the other, Galad laughed hesitantly. Surely his brother was playing a funny new game. But his laughter made Breigon go white with rage, and Galad was afraid until Celegnir appeared and swept him away._

_The worst new normal was Ada. One day, Galad tried to let himself into Ada and Nana’s bedroom only to find that the door wouldn’t open. He jiggled the handle up and down, up and down, standing on tiptoes to try and peer through the keyhole, calling for Ada in a singsong voice, and then jiggling the handle some more until finally the door swung open so suddenly that Galad toppled over. What happened next happened so quickly that he didn’t understand it. Ada was suddenly there, grabbing him by the shoulders, shouting at him to stop it. It wasn’t the mock-roar that had always made Galad laugh. Still, even though his shoulders hurt as Ada gripped them with bruising force, Galad tried a tentative giggle to see if that would fix things. It didn’t. Ada shouted more. He shouted right in Galad’s face, so close that Galad could feel the warmth of his breath and so loudly that it hurt the little elfling’s ears. Then Ada grabbed Galad by the arm and started pulling him to the stairs, but Galad couldn’t keep up and he fell so that for a few strides he was dragged along the floor until Ada snatched him up and carried him._

_Ada carried Galad all the way downstairs where he flung him to the ground and shouted at his other sons for letting their baby brother out of their sight to bother him. So unpleasant and frightening was this new normal that Galad started to cry. Ada turned on him again then, shouting, screaming at him to stop it, shut up, be quiet. It shocked Galad into a sniffling sort of quiet, and he looked up at Ada with fear and tears in his dark blue eyes. “Don’t look at me! Don’t look at me with her eyes, damn you!” Ada shouted at him. Galad didn’t know whose eyes. He only had one pair of eyes and they were his own. But he looked down and away from Ada, pressing his quivering lips tightly together so that he didn’t cry anymore, while Ada just said, over and over, “Damn your eyes. Damn you. Damn her for leaving me like this.”_

_Galad sat on the floor and stared at his hands until his eldest brother picked him up. “We will look after him, Adar,” Celegnir said quietly. “Go and rest. We’ll be fine.” But they weren’t fine, because they were as damaged as their father. Breigon let cruelty overtake his anger. Celegnir turned a blind eye to avoid disturbing the peace. And Noendir…he tried to be grown up, he tried to help, but he was just an elfling who had lost his mother. Mistakes were made, and injustices that their father wasn’t there to correct, because he spent the days shut away in his room or out in his workshop._

_When Ada finally started to return to family life, Galad remembered. He remembered that he wasn’t to look at Ada and that he was to stay quiet. Those were good things to do. But the passing of time and the slow journey to healing had erased that day from Ada’s mind, and so he didn’t understand why his youngest son wouldn’t look at him or why it took shouting at the elfling to make him speak clearly. How could a child lacking such spirit be his! The distance that had started to grow between father and son grew even further, with Ada finding his lastborn child wilful and fey, and Galad thinking only that he had to keep pleasing his beloved ada – who was still one of Galad’s favourite people even if Galad was no longer one of his, a fact that the little boy bore stoically when Ada was around but which he often cried about when he was alone with nobody to see his tears._

There was nothing more that Galad cared to remember. He slammed the walls around his memories before any more could start creeping in, but they crept in anyway – the constant shouting in his ears, the way his father moved so quickly that it made him flinch and towered over him to make him feel small, the dislocated shoulder and the broken wrist that really had been accidents but which wouldn’t have happened if Thranor hadn’t been so rough, the excessive punishments and humiliations, the boxed ears and pulled hair and the multitude of tiny bruises all over his body from Breigon’s secret pinches…

Galad caught his breath and looked away from the troubled expression on Nestorion’s face. “I don’t know what else to say,” he said quietly.

“I expect not. Thank you for sharing some of your story with me, my apprentice. It can’t have been easy.” Nestorion put his hand on Galad’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “Your aunt Parveth told me that there had been some conflict between you and your father, but I did not know the full extent of it and I suspect that I still don’t even now. But I am truly sorry for everything that you have told me.”

That made Galad glance back at his master. “It is what it is.”

“Yes,” Nestorion agreed softly. “That doesn’t make it right.”

Right or wrong had never figured into it for Galad. It had just been his life, a life that he had been accustomed to since his mother’s death sixty-four years ago, and that was all there was to it. “Thank you for being concerned, Master Nestorion,” he said finally, because he felt that he ought to acknowledge that Nestorion had spoken.

“You are welcome, though no thanks are needed. I should like to speak with you at greater length about this – if you are willing, of course; you have my word that I won’t force you into anything,” Nestorion added, as Galad’s blue eyes flickered with doubt. “But for now, go and rest. You have had a long and difficult day.”

Galad nodded and got to his feet, and Nestorion guided him to the door with a hand on his shoulder. As they paused at the door, Nestorion made a movement that Galad thought might have been the initiation of a hug. But he realised that too late, and he couldn’t stop himself from shrinking back in alarm. Horror swept over him at the idea that he may have offended his teacher, and the very thought of that made him sick with shame, but Nestorion just gave him an understanding smile. Though Galad was relieved that Nestorion didn’t try the hug again right then, for he feared that he might fall apart should he be shown kindness, the young apprentice resolved to do better next time – and he did tentatively hope that there would be a next time.

Released to go on his way, Galad left the study and went straight to the room that he had been given. Only when the door was firmly closed behind him, his clothing and his shoes either put in the laundry or carefully stowed away, his neatly folded nightshirt and leggings retrieved from under his pillows and changed into, his hair brushed and freshly braided, did he get into bed and curl beneath the covers. Wrapping his arms around himself in a hug, he finally gave his tears the permission they needed to fall.


End file.
